Portrait of a Dropout
by incense and peppermints
Summary: A few snapshots of Soda's school experiences from elementary school to when he drops out. Oneshot. Repost.


Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

Thank you, 7.06andCounting, for mentioning this oneshot in our PM's and inadvertently inspiring me to repost it now. :) I'm not exactly sure why I took it down. I tend to dislike the outcome of my writing in third person, so perhaps that was it? Who knows…Many, many thanks also to those who reviewed and faved the first time around. I haven't forgotten, and I still very much appreciate!

* * *

Soda fidgets on a chair in the principal's office, waiting on his mother to pick him up. Why'd they have to call her? Dad would think this is funny, but she never thinks it's funny when he gets in trouble in school.

He sighs and kicks his feet back and forth. Stupid Two-Bit, this is all his fault. Two-Bit thought it'd be real funny to dare him to kiss a girl on the lips, and Soda takes dares seriously. Besides, you can't just say no when it's Two-Bit, not unless you wanna be teased for the rest of eternity, so he did it. He kissed a girl, on the lips—with his eyes closed, 'cause kissing girls is gross, but he did it.

And now the girl—her name is Sally or something, and she's in the third grade—thinks they got married. He can't help but feel proud; he's a mere second grader married to a third grader now, and everybody saw it.

_Including_ the playground supervisor, which is why he sits here now.

When Mom finally comes, she flashes him a look, the look that makes his stomach sink to the floor, the look that tells him he's in trouble for sure.

"Thank you for coming, Ma'am," the principal, Mrs. Shirley, greets her. "Sodapop, would you like to explain to your mother what happened at recess today?"

Soda shakes his head. "That's okay, Ma'am. You can."

"_Soda_." Mom nudges his arm.

He gulps and stares towards his feet. "It ain't my fault, it's Two-Bit's."

He looks up slowly, and she raises her eyes at him to keep talking. "How is this Keith's fault?" she prods when he's silent for too long.

"He dared me to kiss a girl…" He sighs and tries to keep his legs still. "And you can't just say no to a dare, Ma, you _can't_."

She narrows her eyes, and Mrs. Shirley clears her throat. "Surely you must understand that we can't tolerate this kind of inappropriate behavior at our school…"

"I understand," Mom says. "I assure you his father and I will be having a talk with him about this later."

Soda's spirits lift slightly. Dad will tell her this is no big deal, and he'll be off the hook. "If you'll excuse us, we have some errands to run." His mother helps him up, and ushers him towards the door, turning back to Mrs. Shirley for a second. "Thank you for calling me. I promise this won't happen again."

She grabs Soda's arm and escorts him out of the building without a word.

Later that night, he overhears his parents talking about him and can't help but press his ear to the wall to listen. "Sometimes, I swear he has a little too much of you in him, Darrel!" Boy, Mom sounds angry… "Kissing girls in second grade? We got our hands full with him."

"Oh, c'mon, honey, you gotta admit it is kind of funny." Soda smiles. He knew his dad wouldn't be mad.

"He can't just do somethin' because his friend dared him to. If we let him get away with this now, we'll have trouble on our hands later."

"Well, you know how boys are with dares…"

"You're not helping." She sighs and falls silent for a second. "I'll go talk to him on my own then."

And she does. She tells him he acted inappropriately, _just_ like the principal had, and much to his dismay, he's given extra chores that week as punishment, but eventually, the story gains notoriety. Even his mother laughs about it now.

He was the youngest to get his first kiss, and the record still stands.

xxxx

Soda lines his Crayola purple crayon in his desk so he can see the writing on it if he squints down. He's pretty sure he knows how to spell how to spell purple now, but why not take advantage of a crayon? P-U-R-P-L-E. Or is it E-L?

He glances down at the crayon quickly and pops his head up, nervous the teacher might be watching. Phew, she isn't.

When he takes the test, sure enough purple is word number eleven, and thanks to his handy cheating methods, he aces the test. It's first hundred percent on a spelling test ever too. Mom hangs it on the fridge, and Pony whines he's gotten a hundred percent on every test he's taken so far and none of them made the fridge.

Pony's some kind of genius, but he's become the master of cheating, and he's damn talented at it too, always thinking of new creative ways to hide test answers.

He's proud of new skill; it carries him through school.

His mother never catches on.

xxxx

Principal's office again...

Nothing new. He's been here countless times since he started Junior High. Sometimes with Two-Bit; sometimes with Steve; sometimes just on his own. Mr. Hanson takes it with a grain of salt now. "What'd you do today, Sodapop?" he'll ask, shaking his head. He's damn lucky the man has a sense of humor, unlike a few of his teachers, and that sense of humor saves his ass more often than not. Mrs. Willard nearly snapped a ruler atop his head when he wouldn't shut up once, but the worst thing Mr. Hanson's ever done is call his mother.

"Sodapop," Mr. Hanson says, his hands folded neatly across his desk. "Can you explain to me what happened over lunch today?"

_Well, some son of gun Soc threw his lunch at me, and I just had to get even… _Soda curls his lip under his teeth. Maybe he just shouldn't talk. Mr. Hanson may have a sense of humor, but Peter Gergen is one of the untouchables. Not matter what happens, it ain't that kid's fault, 'cause his dad's some kind of bigshot or something.

"Several witnesses claim they saw you start the fight. Is that true?"

_Well, that depends on how you look at it. If you wanna buy that Peter "accidently" dumped his milk on me, then yeah, I guess, flinging applesauce in his face was a bad idea… _He sighs and decides to just say it was all him. That's what they'll believe in the end anyway, so he might as well take the blame now—be cooperative as those teachers like to say. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Sir." He grits his teeth. This is damn painful. "I thought it might be fun, but I promise I won't do it again." _Please don't call my mother. Oh, please God, don't call my mother._

Mr. Hanson shakes his head. He doesn't say it, but the look on the man's face reads, _Your brother never did anything like this._

He knows because he hears that all the time. Darrel was such a good student. Darry was such a joy to teach. Darrel was an example for all the other children. Oh, Darrel was just perfect in every way. Darrel was God's gift to humanity… So maybe they didn't say all that but it sure sounded that way when they talked about him. Boy, do they ever love Darry. Darry's a shiny star pupil in everyone's head, and they think he'll be just the same until _bam_, there comes tornado Soda. It only takes a week to prove he's nothing like his brother. Without fail, those high expectations go to shit. Poor Ponyboy. They'll have no clue what to expect by the time they get him.

"Well, since you owned up to what you did, I'm willing to go easy on you," Mr. Hanson concludes. "You can spend the next couple hours cleaning the cafeteria head to toe, and three days detention."

Soda lifts an eyebrow. _That's going easy?_ he wonders, but he nods and decides not to argue.

xxxx

His parents died three days ago. He bawled day and night for three days straight, but now it's Monday, and for the first time in his life, he _wants_ to go to school. Pony doesn't. He begs to stay home, and Darry readily lets him; in fact, Darry tries to convince him to stay home too, but needs to get out.

He needs to feel normal, needs to joke around with his friends and piss off his teachers like he always does, so he goes and goes about his day as usual, but come the last class of the day, he loses it. He tosses his book across the classroom, kicks the desk over and storms out of the class.

"Sodapop Curtis!" Mrs. Jameson yells after him. "You better be headed straight to the principal's office!"

She screeches loud enough the basketball coach hears her and escorts him the entire way. He swallows his tears and does his damned best to stay composed, but the rage builds and builds. When the principal threatens to call his parents, he can't contain it and explodes. "Well, good luck to you, they're dead," he shouts at the top of his lungs. "They're fucking _dead_."

Mr. Blake stares at him for a moment with wide eyes. He shakes from the frustration, but his eyes soften, and Soda knows the man believes him. The very man who prides himself in being a jerk is showing mercy.

Mr. Black adjusts his glasses and struggles to find words. "When, uh, when exactly did this happen?"

"Three days ago," Soda says quietly.

"Son, I'm so sorry to hear that."

Soda says nothing; he just stares off to the side, out the window. Mr. Blake shouldn't call him son. That right belonged to his parents and his parents only.

"You got a guardian named yet?" Mr. Blake inquires.

"Yeah, my brother Darrel." Soda wipes a tear off his cheek and bites down on his lips to keep new ones from falling.

"I'm gonna call him, and have him pick you up, alright?"

When Darry gets there, Mr. Blake talks to him. They talk for what seems like forever, but Soda can't bear to listen. When it's over, Darry taps his shoulder and helps him up.

On the way home, he gets his first big "I told you so" lecture from Darry, but by the end of it, Soda knows his big brother is only concerned about him and worried shitless he'll do more stupid things at school. It's all on him now. Every crazy antic he pulls is Darry's responsibility.

As he lies awake that night, he vows to be better behaved, to tell his friends no the next time they wanna do something stupid. It won't be easy, but he has to. For all Darry has to give up, it's the least he can do to make his brother's life easier.

xxxx

Goddamned Algebra. Numbers and letters don't go together. Numbers are numbers, and letters are letters, damn it. He hates this class. Come to think of it, he hates every class, but he _really_ hates this one. It's only been one week, and it'll be a miracle if pulls a D— be a miracle if manages to sit still through any of it too.

He slouches into his desk chair and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling.

The bell hasn't rung yet, and he's already done with Algebra. He won't understand a word of what Mr. Paulson says anyway; it all sounds like some foreign language, and whatever they assign, he'll just make Steve do it for him. Steve might be a genius, but him? He ain't bright at all. Sometimes Darry and Pony talk about smart people stuff and it makes him feel like a dumbass.

He stares at the clock. Three more minutes until the teacher shows up. To occupy himself, he smacks his hand down on the desk, spreads his fingers apart, and taps the sharp end of a pencil between them back and forth as fast as he can without stabbing himself.

"What are you _doing_?" the girl behind him asks.

He doesn't bother turning around. "I dunno. I'm bored…"

He smirks at her concern. Yeah, lots of people worry about that. His poor mother worried all the nurses in the ER would remember every single one of her boys by name before the end of their childhood, but especially him. He was the wild one, but this? This was just a stupid antic to pass the time. He did it in elementary school sometimes, even tried it with a pair of scissors once before his teacher caught him and made him stand in the corner.

He moves the pencil faster, and it clicks against the desk louder.

"Careful, you could hurt yourself!"

"Don't worry," he assures his classmate. "I know what I'm—" _Jab._ "Damn it," he curses under his breath and lifts his hand up to examine it under the bright classroom lights. The tip of the graphite had broken off into his pointer finger, and there might be a sliver too. _Great._

"Are you crazy?"

_Probably, _he thinks, picking the splinters out of his finger.

He flips around to see the pretty girl still shaking her head. She wears a modest cardigan, her blouse has almost all the buttons buttoned, and her hair's pulled into a simple ponytail. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was a Soc, but her face looks familiar. He's seen that face before. She's friends with Steve's gal or something.

He flashes a grin. "Hey, I'm Sodapop." She probably knows that, but it can't hurt to be polite.

"That your real name?" She glances away down at her hands as she speaks. "I mean, I know that's why they call ya, but I just thought it was nickname."

He gets this a lot. He doesn't even bother explaining anymore. "You bet it's my real name. What's yours?"

"Sandra," she replies sheepishly.

Sandra, such a formal name… _Too_ formal. He'll call her Sandy. "Well, nice to meet you, Sandy." He holds his hand out, and when she grimaces, he realizes he's held out the injured hand, which is now drawing blood. That'll be fun to explain to Darry later… "Let's try this again." He holds out his other hand. "Nice to meet you, Sandy."

She shakes his hand and pulls hers away quickly. "You know, no one calls me Sandy…"

"Oh yeah? They should."

She says nothing, just smiles.

He smirks and turns to face the front of the classroom.

He can't be sure, but he thinks he likes her.

xxxx

For the next several weeks, Soda looks forward to school.

He looks forward to Algebra with Sandy and asks her for help with the assignments on purpose. He doesn't just like her anymore, he really likes her, and she really likes him.

Steve complains she's turning him soft, but he doesn't see it that way. He thinks she's the greatest thing that's ever happened to him. When they talk, she listens to him, and he ain't ashamed to let his guard down about his parents. She's the only one he can stomach pouring his heart out to.

And she tells him things she's never told anyone else—tells him how frustrated her father makes her with his over strict rules and unfair punishments, and how her mother is always on her case to act like lady and be a good example for her little sister. She always feels bad and apologizes after she tells him these things, feels bad for complaining about her parents when he has none, but Soda doesn't mind.

Her parents sound awful, and he grows to hate them.

He loves her more than any other girl he's met before. For a good month or two, she made him _like_ going to school, and that says a lot.

If only Algebra were every class…

xxxx

Four F's, a D, and C, thanks to Sandy.

What a beauty of a report card, but it don't matter. He's made up his mind, and nobody can change it; he's dropping out.

Darry can't make ends meet working two jobs anymore, and when he heard Darry say he was considering a third one, that was the final straw. Darry isn't getting a third job, not if he has anything to say about it, so talks to the manager at the DX and sweet talks his way into a full time position.

For a couple weeks, he goes to work instead of school. He has a master plan—to earn his first paycheck and have a nice wad of money to show Darry when he admits to dropping out. That'll soften the blow, he figures. There's bound to explosive of epic proportions, but this'll guarantee he isn't strangled.

When pay day finally arrives and he has that all important check, he sits Darry down while Pony's at track practice. If he's going to get his ass chewed out, he'd rather their little brother not witness it. Today's the big day; the day Darry kisses his feet for the extra money or bashes his head in for pulling this behind his back.

He starts by handing Darry the money.

Darry takes it and stares at the number on the check for a long time, his suspicion meter topping the charts. "How in the world'd you manage when you got school?"

Soda twiddles his thumbs. "Yeah, about school, Darry… I dropped out."

"You_ what_?" Darry pops up, and Soda swears he sees a vein bulge in his brother's forehead.

"We need the money, Darry." Soda keeps his tone even and looks Darry directly in the eye. If he intends to win this argument, he can't lose his cool too.

Fists balled at his sides and eyes ablaze, Darry takes a step closer. "You ain't dropping out. End of story."

Soda stands up. "I already did."

Darry grasps a fistful of Soda's t-shirt, shaking it slightly.

Soda knows this isn't a good time to argument, but he won't back down on this no matter what it takes. "Listen, Darry, I ain't smart anyway and you need the mon—"

"You shut your damned mouth and listen to me, Soda." Darry grips both shoulders now, his fingers digging into the sides of Soda's arms. "I'm your guardian, and what I say goes: You. Ain't. Dropping. Out. _Period_. End of discussion."

Soda scoffs. Mom used to say that when she lost his cool.

"I mean that, little buddy," Darry says. "So you get that idea out of your head right now. I don't care if you already did it. We'll reenroll you. You're stayin' in school. That's an order!"

Darry lets Soda go with an unintentional shove and starts pacing, still yelling. "I can't believe you, pulling this shit behind my back. So did you just flee off to work when I dropped you off? Did Pony know about this? Goddamnit, Soda. I can't even… Just …"

Soda groans. Darry's so pissed he's rendered him speechless.

Darry kicks the leg of the coffee table, stubbing his toe in the process. He grumbles, and Soda rushes to him. "You okay, Darry?"

"I'd perfectly fine if it weren't for _you_."

Soda grits his teeth to quit from flinging insults in Darry's face. He just needs to bide this out… Darry'll see reason eventually.

"You're grounded… For a month. No, _indefinitely. _UntilI can stand looking at you again."

And here Darry goes with the nonsensical rambling again. This could take all night…

"Glory, I could just … I could just strangle you. What the hell were you thinking, huh? Enlighten me, 'cause I'd _love_ to know. Go on. Go right on ahead and tell me…"

Darry folds his arms across his chest and raises an eyebrow, as though he's expecting a stupid reponse, and that's when Soda can't take it anymore. "I was thinking of _you_," he yells. "I don't care how fucking pissed you are right now. You _need _this money, so you can stick your 'stay in school' bullshit up your ass Darry. I'm _doing_ this."

Darry looks as though he might hit him then, and Soda mentally prepares himself for that punch. He expects it the way his big brother is staring at him, but Soda just clenches his fists and bolts out of the front door in a fit of rage.

Pony's already back from track practice by the time Darry finally returns. For the most of the evening and all through supper, Soda and Darry don't mutter a word to each other. Every so often they exchange glances, but neither intends for this to escalate in front of Pony.

"You guys … okay?" Pony asks, picking at his plate of food, the tension clearly unnerving him.

Soda runs a hand through his hair, and Darry sets his fork down. "Soda dropped out," he tells Pony.

Pony's face immediately tenses up and reads panic. "Why?"

"We need the money," Darry explains. "I can't work three jobs."

Soda gives his oldest brother a confused stare, but Darry simply ignores him and picks up his work again.

To this day, they don't talk about how they reached this agreement, they don't talk about his dropping out period. Sometimes Soda swears Darry's still mad about it, and every time Pony mentions it, Soda knows he's disappointed.

Out of the three of them, he'll be the only one to die without a high school degree, but at least he could say thanks to his school days, he was the youngest to get his first kiss.

It ain't much, but these days, he has to cling to what he has.

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Thanks for reading! All feedback is most welcome. :)


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